


Secret Softness

by SkinSlave



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Backstage, Concerts, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, Gentle Sex, Gentleness, Group Sex, Groupies, Lesbian Sex, Multi, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 23:09:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16396865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkinSlave/pseuds/SkinSlave
Summary: A series of unexpected events gives a Slave a private view of her ultimate fantasy lover.TW: tastefully graphic group sex, voyeurism, considerate lovers, unopened soda.





	Secret Softness

I was disappointed to see a line of women outside the green room. If there's one thing my fantasies taught me, it's that I would be alone with Marilyn Manson, backstage after a concert. I crossed my arms and pouted a little. These little girls ahead of me didn't deserve him.

Most of them were carbon-copy teens with black dye jobs and corsets. They were plain in their non-conformity. And they all looked uncomfortable. Who wears fuck-me pumps to a concert? I couldn't deny that some of them were genuinely pretty. At least I could check them out while I waited.

It didn't take long to realize that the line was moving rather quickly. I could soon see what was happening at the door: a girl went in, stayed for a few minutes, and left with an autograph. Shit. Maybe he was tired and just wanted to give a few teenagers a quick thrill. I didn't want to give up on my ultimate fantasy, but as the line moved on, I felt a little dejected.

Soon, it was my turn, last in line. I stepped into the green room, my heart pounding. Manson was seated on a couch, his black dress shirt unbuttoned, grey pinstripe tie draped loose over one shoulder. He tented his fingers and smiled, stark white teeth framed by burgundy lipstick.

"Hey," he said. "It's always nice to meet a fan. What's your name?"

"Slave," I said softly. I hadn't realized how powerful he would be in person. My mouth felt like it was filled with glue.

"Slave... Interesting name." He cocked one eyebrow and paused, then, "How old are you, Slave?"

"34," I said, a little ashamed of my age.

"And are you married, Slave? Boyfriend? Girlfriend?"

"Husband. We occasionally have female partners, but we're picky and get checked often," I added, wondering if that was the meat of his curiosity.

"Perfect. Finally," Manson sighed, gesturing toward a part of the room I couldn't see. "See anything you like?"

I turned to see two young women sitting on a loveseat. One was a dyed-red teen mall slut, covered in piercings, wearing Hot Topic clothes and red lace-up fetish boots. The other was a little older with gorgeous mocha skin, braids, gauged ears and an outfit not unlike mine - band shirt, black jeans, chains and sensible black boots. I took a minute or two to admire them.

"They're both attractive," I decided. "Miss Spencer's over there is pretty young, but she's ok."

I turned back to Marilyn. He was nodding. He had a half-empty glass in one hand, his tie in the other. He was leaning forward.

"Is hubby expecting you soon, Slave?" he asked bluntly.

"No," I said, licking my lips. "He's not expecting me until tomorrow. I was hoping to get myself into some trouble."

He smirked and held the glass up like a toast. His eyebrows bounced suggestively.

"You want trouble, you got it," he said, then downed the rest of his drink. He tossed the glass onto the couch beside him, stood up and walked out the door. The younger girls stared at me for direction, but I hesitated.

"Trouble's leaving!" His voice echoed down the hallway, spurring me into action. I walked briskly after him, followed by the other girls. A man at a corner in the hallway pointed toward the exit. A limo was parked outside. The door was open.

The teenage sex doll rushed to be first inside. She was so awkward in her boots that she resembled a newborn giraffe. I motioned for the other woman to go ahead, enjoying the view of her ass. As soon as I was in, and the door was closed, the vehicle started moving.

"Ok," Manson began, clapping his hands for effect, "we have Slave, 34, bi, experienced... Logan, 27, bi-curious, currently single... And Roxy, 19, undecided, total virgin. I think we have a good mix. Like a cross-section of the city."

Roxy, who was sitting next to him, gave a cute little wave. She was a little annoying, but from this angle I could better appreciate her overflowing corset top. I was intrigued by the fact that she was a virgin - and by then I was quite sure she wouldn't be for long.

Manson broke in on my thoughts: "I'm sorry we don't have time for a proper meet-and-greet. I'm staying at the closest hotel to the venue."

As if on cue, the limousine slowed, then stopped. Without another word, Marilyn got out. We followed behind, into the lobby. The woman behind the counter stared, mouth agape. Manson blew her a kiss and led us into the elevator.

"I'm in the honeymoon suite," he purred as the door reopened. "Irony."

We followed him into the room. It was luxurious: a huge bed, hot tub, lots of seating, an alcove kitchenette and a muscular security guard. The guard stood up as we filed in.

"Go, go, go, go," Manson whispered, waving at him until he was out the door. He pulled his shirt off and tossed it over the headboard of the bed. I couldn't help but stare at his chest, the cage that held his creativity, his passion, his fight.

"We are going swimming," he announced.

Roxy turned to me and whispered, "I don't have a swimsuit. Do you?" I shook my head at the poor, dumb bitch and began to strip. She caught on quickly.

Marilyn was already in the hot tub, having left the rest of his clothes in a trail on the floor. Logan was next, then me. Roxy kept her boy shorts on. She slid into the water like it was her first time.

"Oh, actually," Manson said with an uptick and a raised finger, "could you grab me a drink, babe? Around the corner in the kitchenette, I have some sodas."

Roxy jumped up with a smile and walked obediently in the direction of the refrigerator. Marilyn leaned toward me and asked, "Is it just me, or is she a cheerleader in costume?" I held in a chuckle as I heard her arrive with the drink. He thanked her and put it on the floor without opening it.

"Painkillers, anyone? Vodka? Pussy?"

It was a clunkier segue than I'd expected from such a generally articulate man, but it certainly got the point across. I turned to Roxy, draped one hand over her shoulder and cupped what must have been a DD tit in the other. She turned bright red.

"You're such a pretty girl," I whispered, brushing her nipple. "Look at this body. Beautiful."

The flattery seemed to loosen her up a little and I kissed her. Her lips were full and soft, and she smelled like cotton candy. It was like making out with a brand-new stripper. I nipped at her ear and slid my hand from her chest to the waistband of her panties. She stiffened again. I took the hint and turned to Logan.

Unlike the tentative teen, Logan turned to face me. She gently touched my breasts and threw her shoulders back in invitation. I obliged, enjoying her smaller, but still firm, tits. The dark chocolate nipples were enticing. I perched her on the edge of the tub, moved between her legs and tasted each one. She sighed and rubbed my neck and back.

I heard Marilyn clear his throat. Being watched had always been a turn-on for me. Being watched by the God of Fuck was the absolute pinnacle. I imagined his uneven eyes moving across our contrasting skin. My clit tingled without being touched.

I felt a third hand on my back. Roxy had apparently gotten lonely. I moved a bit to the side, pushing Logan's legs farther apart, and pulled the blushing girl toward me. She leaned in to kiss me, laying her palms on my nipples. She was still awkward, but she was asking for a chance. I gave her one.

After a long kiss, I turned back to Logan's perky C cups. I stayed to one side, hoping Roxy would get the message. She did and I stroked the small of her back as she began to suckle. Logan moaned and pulled us in, mashing her tits into our mouths. When she let us go, each nipple had a lipstick ring. It was very becoming.

I moved to let Logan back into the water and nodded for Roxy to take her place. Once we locked onto her tits, she warmed up quickly, moaning and giggling. I hooked my fingers in the front of her shorts and gently pulled them down. She hiked her ass without thinking about it and her damp blonde pubic hair came into view.

With a splash, Manson stood up and got out of the hot tub. He wrapped a nearby towel around his waist and sat in a chair near the bed. I left Roxy's panties floating in the tub and grabbed a towel of my own. The other girls followed suit. Still wet in more ways than one, we moved to the bed.

Logan immediately went for my pussy. I let her stroke it as I lay between the teen's thighs. I wanted to finish what I started. Her lips were plump and pink, and as I licked them, she moaned and opened wider. I worked her clit until she was bucking her hips and gasping. I managed to get a finger into her tight cunt just before she came. The muscle spasms were amazingly strong.

Understandably, Roxy needed a minute to recuperate. I turned my attention to Logan. Her fingers were soaked with my juice by now and she curiously licked them. I kissed her deeply, sharing the flavor. From the corner of my eye, I could see Manson in his chair, watching intently and squeezing the sizable bulge under his towel.

Logan pushed me onto my back. I was impressed with her confidence. She straddled my face, giving me a clear view of her beautiful shaved cunt. I gripped her ample ass and pulled her down, burying my tongue in her pink folds. She was delicious. As she rode my face, I periodically smacked her ass. It seemed to energize her and soon she was riding out a climax on my tongue.

Logan dismounted and kissed me. Roxy joined in, stroking our backs and nibbling our shoulders. Neither made a move to reciprocate the orgasms I'd given them. After a few minutes, the kissing devolved into laying and absently touching one another's faces. The show was essentially over.

I excused myself to the bathroom, intending to finish myself without embarrassing the other girls. Manson grabbed my arm as I passed and whispered, "Don't." I nodded and he let me go. Instead, I used the privacy of the locked bathroom to fix my hair and wash the smeared lipstick from my face, and neck, and shoulders.

The giant mirror told no lies. My breasts were heavy and no longer gravity-defying. My stomach wasn't flat. My thighs were thick. I hoped that my willingness and ability to please had made up for those imperfections. Feeling more self-conscious than before, I finally went back into the room.

The girls were gone. Their clothes were gone, save Roxie's panties still floating in the hot tub. I moved toward my clothes, sheepishly hoping that Marilyn would let me go in silence. I didn't see him in the chair. But when I picked up my jeans, I heard him.

"Don't."

I stopped at the sound of his voice, like stones on a cello. I turned to see him emerge from behind a door. Seeing him alone, in nothing but a towel, he looked vulnerable. Just a tall, painted leather doll. His eyes, though, were piercing.

"Ok," I muttered, unsure of what to say.

He took my jeans from my hands and dropped it to the side. He sat on the bed, guiding me to sit as well. I was hypnotized. His hands were gentle, not at all what I'd expected. They traced my collarbone, lifted my chin into a kiss. He tasted sweet and manly, but the softness in his kiss was feminine. We kissed for months, melting, his fingers exploring my thighs and nipples. A slight push had me on my back on his bed.

"How did they taste?" he asked, kissing a lipstick trail from the hollow of my throat to my navel.

"Sweet... and metallic... like copper fruit."

He moaned softly. I felt my own arousal returning. He began to pet my shaved pussy, a light, teasing tickle. Breaking my trance, I reached toward him and pulled him to me. I touched his shoulders, his back, his chest, gently raking my nails against his skin.

I could see his cock straining against the towel. He was ignoring it in an almost knightly way. But I wanted it. It was the prize I'd dreamt of for so long.

He lay on his back while I took the towel. His cock was beautiful. I held it and it throbbed, obviously less gentlemanly than Manson himself. I took it in my mouth and a moan bubbled out of me. My tongue swirled around it. I pulled it into my throat and he groaned. The rumble spurred me on. I worshipped his cock, the taut skin, the heat of it. I had to force myself to stop before he came.

As soon as I released him, he tried to reciprocate, but I held him in place. I had been soaking wet since the concert began and I didn't want to wait. I pulled him over me, nipping at his shoulders and chest.

He closed his eyes as he entered me, sliding slowly into my cunt. I wrapped my legs around his hips. We panted in unison with each thrust, building to what I knew would be a spectacular orgasm. At the end of each stroke, he moved his hips in a way that pressed my clit and cervix, sending a jolt of electricity through me.

He looked into my eyes and parted his lips, now smeared with red lipstick. He repeated my name in a hoarse whisper. His eyelids began to flutter and I knew he was close. The thought of Marilyn's hot cum flooding my pussy sent me over the edge.

I moaned loudly as I came, clinging desperately to his shoulders. I tried to keep my eyes open. I wanted to see his face. They blinked involuntarily, giving me strobe vision of my sensual ghost.

An almost pained expression twisted his mouth. He closed his eyes, the hollows dark wells of eyeshadow. He kept thrusting as his entire body trembled. My throbbing cunt milked his cock, hungry for every drop of cum. I scratched his shoulder blades with my nails, leaned forward to kiss his collarbone.

After what felt like an hour of holding Manson's convulsing body, his head slumped forward. I lifted his chin and kissed him, tasting his sweat and his lipstick. He collapsed, his whole weight on me, and buried his face in the side of my neck. I could feel his heartbeat.

"Was that ok?" he finally murmured without lifting his head.

"Are you kidding me?" I laughed. "That was the highlight of my life."

He chuckled and rolled over, lying next to me. He laid a hand on my tummy and sighed.

"Most girls expect blood and coke, but it's hard to enjoy a woman's body with all that other stuff going on. You deserved to be enjoyed."

My face flushed even deeper. I looked down at my nearly-middle-aged body, my worn skin, and wondered what made him think it deserved anything. He might have read my mind because he spoke as if on cue.

"We all age," he sighed. "Some of us like a piece of wood in the sun: grey and cracked. Others like wine, becoming more complex and full. You're a wine, Slave. The way you loved those pillow princesses, giving without taking, your mouth a precious introduction to the world of women..." He trailed off.

I turned and raised up on my elbow. He was still as a statue, eyelids heavy. He was beautiful. My eyes wandered to his chest, the cage that held his secret softness.

I had expected blood and coke. I had expected to be used and tossed aside like an empty bag. I had expected him to hurt me. I didn't get what I expected at all. I got much, much more.

 


End file.
